


The Seduction of Galen Erso

by ohmyvalar



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Times trope implies 5 diff people but, Angst, Crack turned Serious, Director Krennic's part time job as a barber!?, Dubious Consent, Help mE I'm in galennic hell, Multi, somehow this is all buildup for endgame!galennic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9079870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyvalar/pseuds/ohmyvalar
Summary: Galen Erso is referred to by most of the characters, most of the time by his first name. Logically, this was probably done to avoid confusion between Galen and Jyn, but what if it's simply because they all feel intimate enough with the genius to do so? -Aka, 5 Times Galen Erso seduced/was seduced by someone, and one time he already knew it was love. Also, this sounds really crack, but... it's actually all angst... *laughs nervously* 18/1/17 HIATUS:Chapter 4 is in the works, but I'll be waiting until my copy of the Rogue One novelization arrives to reignite my inspiration :') Sorry for the delay everyone... in the meantime I'll be working on Obikin so if anyone's interested...?





	1. Galen/Orson: Academy Days

**Author's Note:**

> Less crack than the title and summary suggest, istg;;

1.

Galen knew how Orson Krennic thought it had went. 

They had never discussed it, at length; or at least Orson had not in Galen's hearing, and Galen did not think him indifferent enough to brag about it to his circle of college program elites. 

-

Once, Galen had stopped in the hallway before a turn in the corner, hearing Orson's level voice ring out in the distance amid the din, just out of sight. Stepping closer into the shadows, he had concealed himself in plain sight in the hallway with ease. 

If anyone saw him, they did not question his motive for halting alone in silence in the hallway during hectic lunch break. Galen Erso, newly orphaned academy transfer, did not yet attract much attention with his quiet nature and undiscovered genius. 

When the wave of academy students had passed, Galen inched forward along the hallway, heading towards where he had heard Orson's voice.

'... latest conquest?' The flippantly light voice of one of Orson's circle asked, eliciting a round of raucous laughter from the rest. Galen could imagine the tall young boy surrounded by his circle, simultaneously being fawned over and challenged, each in turn. 

They were, all of them, ambitious little children; the circle Orson surrounded himself with and strove to make himself the leader of was filled with those who yearned to rise to the top of the Republic brass. Most already showed remarked gift in leadership, or the military; sometimes both. They were the cream of the crop amongst the best and brightest students that made up the Republic Future Program, and they knew and acted like it. 

And Orson Krennic was the best - the _worst_ \- of them all. 

'Conquest? Who?' Another voice clamored. It was no secret that Orson Krennic enjoyed indulging in the pleasures of the flesh, and that he was indiscriminate - men, women and those in between or careless of gender had been in his bed, though none seemed to share it for long. 

'The - that backward boy from his backward _agricultural_ planet.' A girl chipped in, and another added in a dramatic whisper, ' _Galen Erso_.' 

At the sound of his name, a shiver slithered down Galen's spine, fading too fast for him to pinpoint the exact emotions he had felt in that concentrated moment. 

With bated breath, he waited for Orson's reply. 

'... He's not like that,' came their leader's curt answer after a tense moment. 'He's a friend.' 

Murmuring broke out in the air. The answer was evidently not what his circle had expected. 'Friend?' A brave - for one had to have guts to speak against Orson Krennic, even at fifteen and as yet devoid of real power - voice persisted, the word Galen held so sacred tinged with scorn. 'Isn't that just a nice word for someone you want to get into your pants to you?' 

The challenging remark drew a hush within the circle. The ambitious girls and boys waited in anticipation for their leader to meet or break under the contender's pressure. 

Galen, too, waited in his hidden corner, silently contemplating if Orson's silence meant his inability to answer or that he was simply biding his time to destroy his opposer. He strongly suspected that it was the latter. Though he was five years the boy's senior, Galen had never learnt the way Orson had with power plays - but he knew the rules:

The longer the wait, the harder the blow. 

'Galen Erso is not just a _friend_. The _backward agricultural planet_ he came from is named _Grange_ , and he was accepted by the Republic Future Program after excelling in his academics and scholarships. Even here his results are outstanding, much more than _yours_. The professor mentors already have their eye on him. 

He's an orphan, and he's shy and reclusive. There's no one else who would take him into their circle, make a friend of him. No one else who could give him the appreciation and recognition he deserves. So no, he's not just a _friend_ , or however else your degenerate brain may think I meant.' 

With every word concise and cutting, as if he were reciting obvious facts from memory, Orson drove his attack maneuver into the heart of his opposition. His voice swelled with each emphasized word, affecting incredulity at his opponent's foolishness. 

Orson's calculated counter complete, he now seemed the man over his opposer's childish insult in every other circle member's eyes, and everyone knew it. 

The voice muttered an apology too soft for Galen to hear in detail, but their leader's subsequent faux-benevolent show of forgiveness made it clear to him that the challenger had submitted well enough to satisfy Orson's prideful leadership. 

The speech, however, had had a completely different impact on the subject Galen Erso himself. 

With every word that should have seemed demeaning, every word that clearly betrayed his intentions with Galen as less than pure, undemanding friendship, the older boy had felt a surge of foolish sentimentality. 

The unnamable emotion in him swelling to unmovable depths, Galen gave in to his urge to look, though it meant risking being caught eavesdropping. 

Turning his head beyond the corner, Galen looked into Orson's face as the boy declared to his circle, 'Galen Erso is my _special_ friend.' 

A restless wave of muttering swept through the circle anew, breaking the previous silence. 

Orson Krennic had many 'friends'; they themselves, part of his circle and court as one, fell under that category. Many a lover and rival alike had been dismissed with the word casually, usually to disapproving professor mentors. 

But what did a 'special friend' mean?

No one in the circle could guess. Like wolves, they sniffed at the possessiveness that hung as thick as mid-spring fog on Brentaal in the air, in turn alarmed and intrigued by this new admission their leader had made. 

And because Galen was looking right into Orson's face, he saw the unveiled satisfaction in his bright, blue eyes, and saw the truth: that this boy who had just proclaimed their special friendship genuinely admired and liked him, and took great pride and joy in announcing to his world that the genius he had uncovered like a gem and raised up like a phoenix was his. 

No praise, not from his parents, nor his Grange mentor, nor his mentors in the Program had ever felt as significant. 

In his heart, Galen felt the unnameable emotion well up again, recognizing it mirrored in his special friend's eye.

It was joy. Exhilarating, liberating, breathless joy; that overwhelmed his logical thoughts and set dizzying, fantastical ones engrained into his mind. Pride, too, that he had succeeded in becoming friends with such an individual that could inspire such amazing ideas in him. 

And it was the first time Galen had ever had reason to doubt his mind and heart as being cold and mechanical things. 

-

So, no - Galen Erso did not think Orson Krennic indifferent at all. 

Even when, after years and years of the Program together, their special friendship had grown into something much more different indeed, Galen only grew more certain that their relationship had become something that Orson would speak of truthfully to few. 

He had become one of Orson's few weaknesses, and to be an ambitious man like Orson's weakness was to put both of them in danger. 

Being a private man by nature, Galen had few objections. He did not feel the need to be open about the details of their relationship to Orson's world, and certainly not to his own. 

For all of Orson Krennic's lofty, grand ambitions, his world, with its careless treachery and careful plotting, had always been much smaller than Galen's galaxy, which he sought to improve with his art of science. 

He often thought that he felt less urgency about things between them than Orson did. From the very beginning, Orson was always the one who urged him on endlessly to advance his research, his inventions, his art. Most of the time, the fervent encouragement, coupled with his great affection for his friend, spurred him on to finish his plans ahead of time. 

And when Orson had leaned in for the first time to find Galen's lips with his own in the darkness, it had felt... unfamiliar, but nice. 

Still, he had been in no rush to hurry things along, content with enjoying the present moment as he did with most things he enjoyed, but his friend had quickly tried to speed things up. 

The warm hand trailing up his thigh had made him squirm, but when Orson pulled their foreheads together with his free hand, Galen had stared into those bright blue orbs and instantly understood why all those other people had fallen willingly into his friend's embrace, even knowing that they could never stay. 

There was the pride - and yes, even cockiness, in those early, summer days - that was as much in his bright eyes as in the way he held his frame, the way his presence in any room immediately commanded attention. 

But there was also a piercing gleam that swiftly faded into warm, fond indulgence as he stared into Galen's brown eyes. 

He knew what people wanted, almost as instinctively as Galen knew his numbers and art. Now, at last, years into their friendship, had he glimpsed further insight into the mechanics behind Orson's effortless charisma. 

Maybe that was why Orson never kept his partners for long. Maybe sex, or whatever intimacy his friend shared with them, gradually revealed parts of him; weaknesses that Orson did not want discovered. 

The unbidden thought had almost made him start struggling; he didn't want to become just another one of his friend's bed partners, cast aside as quickly as they were picked up. 

Then Orson, as if reading his thoughts, had shushed him as gently as if he were a child - _this was when they had been seventeen and twenty-two respectively, Galen's mind, which never forgot a number, remembered_ \- though it was not as strange a role reversal as it might have been. 

His complete lack of ambition - except in his pursuit of the art of science - often made him lack the passion to control or move Orson from his decisions, while he himself was often subjected to Orson's limitless drive of ambition and whims. 

In this, in his friend's bed, he was no different. 

His resolve softened under Orson's gentle insistence, Galen had obediently fallen pliant under his friend's ministrations. His passionless submission did not seem to bother Orson as it would later worry Lyra, and that first night he had lain under his friend almost motionlessly, too confused and overwhelmed by the new pleasures he was experiencing to do much more. 

He _did_ like sex with Orson - he would not have continued engaging in it if he did not, and he was never _completely_ subservient to his friend's will - but even in subsequent acts he never played much of an active role, so much so that years later, Lyra had assumed him inexperienced in their marital bed. 

The point was, urgency outside of his usual schedule - which he kept strictly to with a perfectionist diligence that not even Orson could distract him from - rarely occurred to Galen by himself. 

Which made it all the more ironic that, contrary to his friend's silent conviction that it had been him that had drawn Galen into his circle, Galen knew that it had been himself that had urged their entire acquaintance, and relationship, on. 

-

He remembered the first time he had seen Orson Krennic as clearly as any of his blueprint plans. 

The first touch of spring in the Brentaal air had marked the end of Galen's first month in the Republic Future Program. Having kept to himself and been left mostly alone while the other students either ignored him or continued measuring if his worth outweighed the prospects of befriending a social outcast, he had been sitting alone under a native tree reawakening from the numbness of winter. 

And as his eyes roamed the campus around him, he had found himself drawn to a particular slant of the head, a particular light in the eyes, a particular charisma emanating from a figure. 

The frost was just melting, and a new year just dawning. A fresh start. And as the boy who had caught his attention strode right past him, his retinue trailing after him in a mass of awe and scorn, Galen caught the name in the air - ' _Orson Krennic_ ' and held it close to his heart. 

The stage of his life had been set. The curtains had opened to a new beginning. And Galen Erso had found his latest project.


	2. Galen/Lyra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aannnd the second chapter is up!!

2.

Lyra. Where was he to begin chronicling her, and when to end? 

An undeniable, indestructible fact, then: Lyra was the love of his life. 

But back then - back when they had first met - he had not known it yet. 

-

When they had first met, he had been an exploring scientist with multiple research publications and galactic acclaim already under his belt, and she an intelligent, talented guide of the crystal caves where he did most of his research. 

When they had first been introduced on Espinar, Galen had been struck by her youth - from what he had heard from his team of scientists, he had erroneously assumed that her experience came with age. But looking down at the dark haired guide, he estimated her to be around a decade his junior. 

Lyra, with her tall, spry frame, navigated the crystal caves with a finesse and agility that proved effective in greatly shortening the projected duration of their research. With her vast knowledge regarding crystal caves, she led Galen and his group of scientists to their goals swifter than any other expedition had gone. 

And in that first short duration of time they spent together, the dark haired woman had surprised him by directly initiating interaction with him. 

As the leader of the research group, the guide was bound by duty and conventions to report to him. But though Galen had gradually grown out of his social ineptitude with Orson's help in his Program years, his shy and reclusive nature had persisted. 

(Orson had not seemed to mind, though. Privately, Galen had even theorized that his friend approved of his shyness, because it kept him away from possible rivals of his attention. 

After his induction by Orson into his circle of ambitious high-climbers, Galen's astounding genius had caught the eyes of many other students who wished his friendship - no, not that but _comradeship_ , for his friendship was to be with Orson and Orson alone - to ascend in the ranks of the Program, academic or otherwise. 

Realizing his miscalculation, Galen's bright eyed friend had begun the subtle process of drawing Galen back into the shadows - but the damage had been done. 

While Galen - gladly, for he had never enjoyed the frivolous nightlife and partying that his friend reveled in - stopped interacting with Orson's circle, returning to his habit of spending breaks in the Great Library, choice individuals who had heard of his abilities often cornered him in attempts to either threaten or befriend him. 

Never one for being fluent in the language of social conventions that all his peers, especially Orson, seemed to excel at, Galen had sent them all away with perceived insults or reluctant acquiescence. The more persistent ones, his friend had managed. 

Orson had always had a way of making them disappear, and Galen was careful never to probe for answers they would both regret.)

And so Galen was pleasantly surprised when the talented guide he had grown to admire approached him and struck up friendly conversation. 

Lyra's charm was different from Orson's. Where his friend compelled attention with grand, fantastical speeches balanced by wry, snarky interjections, Lyra's quiet, level voice drew Galen into the steady, unyielding compass of her personality. 

She charmed him with her compliments - flattering, but not buttered - and intrigued him with her wit. Beyond her vast, near unchallenged understanding of the compositions of crystal caves, Lyra possessed impressive knowledge about the Jedi Order and the Force. In a private moment, she had even admitted to believing herself Force-sensitive. 

She had blushed after she said it, the high color flushing her pale cheeks. Galen had instantly sensed that she had been scorned or ridiculed for her belief in past experiences of admitting it, and a layer of empathy had been added to his feelings towards her. 

Internally debating over the appropriate words to convey his thoughts, he had finally stuttered out, 'I-I believe you.' 

The dark haired guide had lifted her head suddenly then, and, looking right into his eyes, smiled. The sight burned a warm fire in Galen's heart, which had not ignited such a flame since the Program days with his friend.

It was not that Lyra did not smile often. Rather, she had the confident laughter of a woman who knew that she would be taken seriously, not because of foolish pride, but stemming from a more innate, natural source. She was professional in her capacity as a guide, and as a group the scientists rarely saw her show any other emotions. 

But the smile Lyra offered him was an endearing one; she stared up at Galen with a bold stubbornness that she bore in all things she did, but her brown eyes shone with gentle starlight. 

For a moment, Galen merely looked back into her eyes, mesmerized. She was beautiful, in a way that was different from Orson Krennic, though they were both strong willed humans who wanted him, he thought silently. Wanted him, or wanted him to bend to their will. Sometimes, Galen could not differentiate between the two. 

He sensed that she had created this situation to advance the relationship between them, but he could not remember what to do next. With Orson, it had always been his friend who initiated the advances. 

Galen knew that some cultures still retained the ancient expectation of males of the species to initiate, but he hesitated. He did not have any experience in courting women, nor even men - he did not want it to show and drive Lyra away from him. 

After a tense minute in which even the cool air of the caves seemed humid, Lyra turned her head away silently. Thinking that his inaction had disappointed her, Galen's heart sank. 

But then he heard her whisper in reply. 'I believe you, too.' 

-

Months passed. With Lyra's skilled guiding and effective advice, the research expedition was concluded earlier than projected. The research group, after a small celebration party to which their much-celebrated guide was invited - but which Galen had declined participance as usual - returned back to their base to complete their research papers. 

In the break that ensued, Galen's interactions were mostly limited within his circle of scientists and colleagues. Though his socializing skills had become more polished since his Program days, he still had few he could call friends. 

Galen was a focused, driven man when it came to his job, but even he had times when his mind wandered. 

When the paper reports for the first segment of their research were completed, he and his team would proceed to the next. They would require the aid of a guide, and who better to request than the dark haired guide who had already won the approval and respect of the team? 

Galen turned the thoughts in his head in the weeks that followed. No matter how he pursued the logic of the request, he found that he could not ascertain that it was an idea that would have occurred to him naturally without his fascination with Lyra. 

And fascinated he was. When his mind wandered from his work, they came to rest on the dark haired guide, light years away but in-erasable from his mind. 

In times of distress - which he still had, sometimes, when faced with extended periods of social interaction without a friend at his side - he thought of her straight-backed, confident demeanor and drew strength. 

In more private moments he replayed the scene of their private moment like a holo in his mind, remembering and feeling his cold heart warm with the remnants of her gentle smile. 

He was lonely. That he would admit, if to no one but himself, because there was simply no one to share such personal feelings with. Half of his colleagues would feel uncomfortable at the crossed boundaries of professionalism, while the others would seek to undermine him with what they perceived as a useful weakness. 

So when Orson contacted him and invited him to dinner on Coruscant, Galen agreed with the hope that his friend would be able to guide his thoughts. 

Orson had been in the Republic Corps of Engineers then, where his swiftly rising prominence in the ranks required him to travel the galaxy more widely than even Galen's crystals caves. 

A time frame where they were both available on the same planet was rare, and Galen reasoned that the time lost in transit and delay - for his friend almost always begged the pleasure of extending his stay - would be worth it. 

Orson received him in his apartment. On Coruscant, where skyscrapers filled the landscape and the height of one's quarters reflected their wealth and influence, Galen noted with trepidation that his friend's apartment had risen in both height and quality. 

While Orson's apartment was downright spartan compared to the excessively luxurious decor and architecture some of Galen's biggest employers preferred, there was taste in the furnishings that he could appreciate much more than gaudy art pieces and polished marble floors. 

Orson had changed since their Program days together. His experience in the Corps had given him hard lines in a face that had grown out of its cocky, careless smiles. Instead, the smile that greeted Galen at the door was measured and collected, disconcertingly similar to the smiles that never reached the eyes that Galen often saw in his employers. 

His features had sharpened, having lost the softness of his youth. Belatedly rueful, Galen thought of his friend as when they had first met: they had both been boys then, and the five years between them had seemed a large difference. 

Once upon a time, he had been taller than Orson; now, they stood shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye. Equals, or so he hoped. 

Over dinner served by servitor droids, Orson inquired politely about the progress of his research, and after an equally polite simplified report, Galen used the opening to broach the topic of Lyra. 

At first, his friend had seemed dismissive, absentmindedly agreeing with Galen's appreciative recounts of how Lyra had helped in the caves. Then, picking up on Galen's uncharacteristic insistence on the subject, he had formed a question of his own. 

'So this... Lyra. You're planning on asking her to guide you on the next expedition?' Orson asked, taking a sip of wine. To the untrained eye, he seemed nonchalant as before, but Galen has had years of practice by his friend's side. 

There was a gleam in those blue eyes, a businessman-like shrewdness that had replaced the bright, innocent, cruel look that had sometimes appeared in the young architect's eyes. 

Galen briefly pondered if cynicism or sociopathy was a more worrying trait. 

His friend was ever an ambitious opportunist, but Galen could not think of any reason for to become interested in Lyra, though her qualities were certainly endless in his mind. Besides, discussing her was one of the reasons for Galen traveling all the way to Coruscant. 

'Yes,' he admitted, unease in his voice. There was no point in trying to hide his emotions from Orson, the way he knew his friend was trying to from him. They knew each other too well for that, even with years of separation in between. 

Orson opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. 

'Well,' he finally replied, cutting into a chunk of steak with less finesse than Galen was used to seeing from his friend. 'Go ahead, then. If she makes you so happy.' There was an edge sharper than the knife Orson was wielding to the words, but their warning fell flat against the approval the words shaped. 

'Gladly, then.' Galen smiled; a genuine, relieved thing. He must be overthinking things, after all. Maybe their years apart had drawn their connection thinner than he had thought. Maybe he was misreading Orson's heavy stare at him from across the table. 

After all, what reason did his friend have to be _jealous_ of him bringing Lyra on an expedition? 

-

The first time Galen caught sight of Lyra again, he had felt his heart leap in his chest, and immediately felt foolish for it. 

What could she have guessed of the thoughts that had haunted him in the days of her absence? What were the odds that she, nearly a decade his junior, and brilliant and conventionally beautiful at that, would have given him a second thought out of her professional capacity at all? 

The more he thought about it, the more he regretted requesting her as his guide for the next six months. How would he hide the affections he had begun to bear, and how would Lyra react to them if - _when_ \- her sharp eyes noticed the truth? 

And yet, sitting anxiously at their rendezvous hotel lobby, both dreading and anticipating her arrival, Galen's heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of the wisp of dark locks. 

When Lyra settled down across him, dressed in the thick furs crystal cave exploration required, Galen had to turn away, afraid that something in his eyes would betray his excitement. 

But then the dark haired guide began to speak. And under the easy flow of her confident words, Galen found himself relaxing in her pleasant company. 

Soon, they were exchanging ideas and confirming the best routes to explore the caves, their camaraderie as easy as if they had never been apart. More than once, Galen caught himself thinking that he had never felt as comfortable speaking with anyone as he did with Lyra. Even Orson frequently challenged him past his comfort zone. 

Once they had settled their professional business, Galen braced himself for the guide to excuse herself. 

Instead, Lyra leaned in, wisps of dark hair escaped from her loose bun falling forward to frame her lovely face. 

'Dr Erso,' she whispered, in a low, intimate tone. ' _Galen_. I'm looking forward to working with you again.' 

And Galen felt his heart warm with unfamiliar flames. 

-

The six-month mission was a success, both professionally and personally, for one head scientist and his guide. 

The team of scientists agreed in unison that the findings, when put into a proper, complete report, would be a research paper worthy of galactic interest, especially in light of the recent hypothesis of kyber crystals being a potent source of energy. 

As for personally, well... The expedition had fulfilled more than Galen could have dreamed of in his life. 

-

**22:50 Coruscant, Skyscraper Level 2190, Apartment 2190-11,**

**Incoming Transceiver Call from Galen Erso.**

**...**

**...**

_'Hello, Orson.'_

_'Galen.'_

_'...'_

_'Well, what is it? You know that I always love to hear from you, but I did rush out of a rather important Corps meeting to take your call-'_

_'Orson, I'm getting married.'_

**22:53 Your Call has been Successfully Terminated.**

 

**24:00 Coruscant, Skyscraper Level 2190, Apartment 2190-11,**

**Recording Voice Message to Galen Erso.**

_'Hello, Galen. It's me. Sorry, the connection got cut off and I had to... Rush off to my next meeting. Comes with the nice salary and apartment, I'm afraid. I'm sure you can understand, with you and your six month pilgrimages into crystal caves, huh? Well, you have your Lyra to keep you warm in those cold caves._ (Strained laughter.)

_It is her, isn't it? Your lovely tour guide._ (Sharp intake of breath.)

_I should've guessed the moment you asked me about her. I... I should've seen this coming._ (Strangely breathless laughter, then, softly:) _I should've... Ten years, and you've never..._

_Well, congratulations, Galen. Who would've thought it'd be you first out of the two of us, eh? In our Program days, they always said... In those days... Those were the good old days..._

(An obvious slur to his words now.) _Well, don't go getting the wrong idea now, Galen. I just had a round of drinks with the General and the team, cultivating connections, you know..._

_I..._ Kriff. _Shit._

Shit! 

(Sounds of glass clanging against wooden surface, followed by sounds of glass shattering.)

(A pause. Heavy breaths of a man trying to compose himself.)

_Galen. I give you my sincere condolenc- congratulations, but you have to promise me something, Galen._

_You'll never let her get between us, will you?_

(Laughter, growing in volume until it becomes hysterical.)

_What am I saying... Kriff, Galen, I... Why do you think you're getting to be married first? I... All these years..._ (deep breathes.)

_She must be beautiful, huh? To seduce someone like you... Who never cared for looks. Remember that Brentaal woman in the Program? The 'Goddess of the Program', they called her. Track record up to the hundreds... And she tried to come onto you, I remember, Galen... Got as far as your dorm room... But you turned her away. I used to think... I wasn't that much her lesser in looks, nor in academics. But why did you turn her away, and not me?_

_I meant something - I mean something to you, don't I, Galen?_

(Whisper) _Tell me you can't live without me, Galen._

_I need you. You're with me, aren't you?_

_Galen. Galen._ Galen.'

**Your Voice Message has Ended. Send to Galen Erso?**

**...**

**Your Voice Message has been Deleted.**

 

**02:01 Coruscant, Skyscraper Level 2190, Apartment 2190-11,**

**Message Sent to Galen Erso.**

_'Sorry, the connection got cut off. Congratulations, Galen.'_

-

With few friends and being an orphan, Galen had few sentient beings to communicate the news to. But watching Lyra deploy transceiver messages to her father, Galen had felt a deep sense of happiness all the same. 

Happiness. 

The word had once seemed foreign to him. He had thought himself - foolishly, he now saw in retrospect - numb to the romance that others around him immersed themselves in, thought that in exchange for his inclination towards the sciences some part of his heart, his emotions, had been removed. 

But now, with Lyra, around Lyra, he saw the world in renewed light. The starlight he saw in her brown eyes was reflected in the world around them, and every step they took together seemed a step among the stars of the galaxy. 

Even Orson's curt response had not managed to dampen his mood. He reasoned that Orson was, after all, an ambitious opportunist above all. Perhaps he was off forging connections somewhere again, and couldn't make time for a more detailed message. A simple blessing would have to suffice.

The wedding ceremony, on the other hand... It was set to take place on Coruscant, but Coruscant was a big planet after all. 

He would have to contact Orson again to set a date. 

Another matter had been occupying his mind. 

It was human custom, and of many other sentient beings besides, to procure wedding gifts for the couple to exchange. Other than the usual dowry, Galen had in mind a private gift with more special meaning to them. 

Looking through the crystal samples he and the team had brought back from the crystal caves, he had found most of them either unsuitable - though of course all of them were beautiful - or too common - though even the most common of the crystals were treasures of the galaxy - for a marriage gift. 

Then one day, while reorganizing his work desk to order, his fingers had brushed against the first kyber crystal he had ever possessed - the one that Orson had given him - which he carried at all times. 

Caressing the cool surface of the gem, he had smiled. Lyra would love it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who might think that Krennic's manipulative ways r being bleached, worry not;; I'm planning a sequel from our fav dramatic white caped director's POV, which should explore his inner psyche more thoroughly...


	3. Galen/Orson: Post-Lah'mu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd the real angst has come. Enjoy :')

3.

Orson Krennic was changed. 

Lyra had seen the signs first. Lyra had brooded silently over it for months, years, not knowing how to speak the words, not wanting to hurt him. Even though - or precisely because - she knew that her words held the power to take Galen away from his friend. Lyra had suffered so much because she had not wanted him to have any regrets.

And now Lyra was dead. 

He and Lyra had planned it all in detail, enlisting the help of her friend Saw Gerrera to ensure a safe escape. Galen had built an underground bunker, and many other precautions besides, to provide an escape for his wife and daughter.

 _Jyn._ Oh, Jyn, his Stardust. 

When she had been born, he and Lyra had still been separated in confinement, but he had fallen in love with the crystallization of their love at first sight, after their reunion thanks to Orson. 

Though his pacifist nature had reviled the method of Orson's rescue, he had nonetheless been grateful to his old friend for allowing his family to be free and reunited. 

Now he saw that the careless violence of the rescue mission were but a shadow of what his old friend was capable of now. He should have been more careful, should have cut off ties with him much earlier. 

But he had been weakened by thoughts of their friendship, had not wanted to believe that what Lyra had warned was true. That Orson Krennic intended to use him to create a deadly weapon, that he would use him regardless of Galen's own wishes. 

That Orson Krennic had begun their friendship with that very purpose. 

Now, standing across his old friend, on opposing sides of the field where his family had made their lives, Galen was forced to admit that the suspicions he had about Orson Krennic in his deepest, darkest nightmares might be confirmed. 

He had prayed that Orson would not come after them, when they escaped. Even knowing it would mean that they would never see each other again, because it would mean that Orson's ambitions had not grown so inflamed and amoral that he would tear his friend from his family and chosen way of life. 

Galen knew that Lyra could take care of herself, but it was his duty to her and Jyn that he do everything in his power to protect them before she would need to. It was a duty he had accepted with pride and joy when they had been joined in marriage, a growing duty that he had embraced with doubled pride when they had been blessed with their daughter. 

It was a duty that eclipsed his love for his work and the company of his friend. 

And so the lie that Lyra was already gone had left his lips with ease. Neither his expression nor his tone had betrayed him; embracing his duty had meant learning to lie, and he had practiced it on his friend first of all. 

But Orson Krennic had seen right through him, as he always did, as Galen always saw through him, practiced liar that he was. Their connection went both ways. 

And now his starlight was gone, and his stardust scattered. He hoped, for his daughter's sake, that they would never see each other again. Saw Gerrera had not failed him yet. 

_Lyra. Forgive me, I tried to keep you both safe._

Though her actions might have seemed foolish to others, Galen understood only too well why she had risked everything to stop Orson Krennic once and for all. 

Lyra loved him, and loving him meant that she would rather die than see Galen going back to Orson's side, where she had been convinced that he would draw their family apart. 

Loving him meant wanting him to live out the rest of his life with her, the way she thought was best for both of them. 

And now his wife had paid the ultimate price, and their daughter was alone in the world. He had not meant to orphan her like he had been, but it seemed fate - or the Force, according to Lyra - had other plans.

Onboard the shuttle, Orson Krennic moved to sit down across him. 

'We're warping to Coruscant,' the white-caped man informed him. After a short pause, he added, 'Not going to take a last look at your... homestead?' 

Galen had not, and did not intend to now under the other man's insinuation. It was an unwelcome, uncomfortable reminder of what the rest of his life might be, and he intended to allow himself this one last defiance. 

He remained silent, schooling his face into impassiveness. 

He did not look at the man in the Imperial uniform in front of him. 

The shuttle stabilized about them. They were in hyperspace; soon, Coruscant, the city of skyscrapers, would loom into view. He had not been planetside for a long time. Unbidden, the memory of the last meal he had shared with his friend before his marriage surfaced. 

For a moment, Galen was afraid that he might weep. Then the tears failed to come, and he knew that a piece of him that could feel had died with Lyra. 

Galen Erso had only ever had two people in his life for whom he had felt human emotions. 

And the man in front of him - Director Krennic - had killed them both. 

He heard a frustrated sigh, and braced himself mentally for shouting in his ear or even a blow. 

But Krennic - for he would be Krennic from this moment forth; Orson, his childhood friend, had died in the birth of the cruel, powerful, ever-ambitious Director - only said: 'You know that I never meant for Lyra to die, don't you? And Jyn-' 

Galen couldn't bear to hear his daughter's name coming out of that infernal mouth. 'When we land, I'll give you a list of the materials I need and the scientists I want on the team. I trust that you haven't had all of them killed for failing to stop my attempt to run away from you. I want the research facility built on Eadu, and...' 

His voice was trembling; even he could hear it - with anger or sadness, he could not tell. But there was no fear. Fear had died with Lyra, too. Director Krennic would not harm him, at least not beyond repair. That ruled out most of the droid torture techniques, and no material pain could harm him more than the hole in his heart and soul anyways. 

Besides, what motive had Galen to rebel? The hour was too late; Lyra was dead, Jyn disappeared, hopefully safe. But she would not be if Krennic found her when her father had been disobedient. 

His primal emotions were out of control; that was fine. He could learn to control them, like he had learnt to lie. 

For now, he would endure. This was his punishment, for having endured too much for too long. Now, he would endure again, if he ever wanted Jyn to live out her life in safety. 

His life did not matter. It had been forfeit the moment Lyra fell under Krennic's blaster. He could live under Krennic and the Empire as a work-slave, or he could end his own life and doom Jyn if she were ever found. 

When it came down to his life against his daughter's, there was no competition at all. 

He was prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice: his life, in exchange for the possibility of hers.

Still, he expected to hear more gloating from Krennic, that sharp, cruel wit put to use to taunt or threaten him. 

But the man in the white cape suddenly looked very, very tired. 

Knowing that he should look away but unable to stop himself, Galen raised his head to look into Krennic's face. 

Orson Krennic had aged. Under the military cap that added ten years of authority to his frame, his once-light brown hair had turned grey. Those blue orbs had likewise darkened, both in color and the spirit that dwelled in them. There were lines in his face now, hardened by the experiences and decisions that came with his job as a Director of the Republic. 

He was a man who could demand fear and respect in turn on a large scale; his charismatic leadership in the Program had magnified hundredfold. But men like Krennic were never satisfied with their present positions; even now, Galen saw in him the hunger and determination for greater power. 

But there was also sympathy, and the smallest drop of regret swimming in those blue eyes. It scared Galen that the emotions might be genuine, but it horrified him that he was even considering them to be; that he might playing into another one of Krennic's ploys. 

It terrified him that he had once shared this man's bread, bed and thoughts; and how easy it would be for him to share them again, without Lyra. 

Lyra had held him back; that was what he sensed Orson had always felt about his wife. And he understood why his friend had felt that way. 

Lyra had persuaded him to give up his research and his career. And most importantly, she had taken the means of Orson Krennic to advance his career as well as Galen himself from him. 

He was forced to acknowledge the possibility that the two were indistinguishable in Krennic's mind: Galen's worth to him as a genius scientist and his worth as a friend. 

It was a sobering, dissociating thought. 

Galen looked away. The expression on Krennic's face, raw and open, was too similar to one his old friend might have worn. 

Again, he expected Krennic to take advantage of his vulnerable situation to manipulate him to some end. 

But when Krennic stood up, it was only to whisper, 'Get some rest. We'll be landing in a couple of minutes.' Then he turned to leave. 

At the doorway, the white caped man paused. 'For what it's worth, I really am sorry. Galen.' 

Then he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him. Galen did not move. He knew that he would find the door locked and unhackable. Orson Krennic did not leave loose ends, especially not with someone he knew so well, found so predictable. 

Sadness, then anger, overwhelmed Galen. What did it matter that he was sorry? He had killed Lyra in cold blood. He had threatened to capture Jyn and use her against him. He had no right to say he was sorry, not to Galen nor anyone else. 

The worst thing was that Galen knew that he wasn't sorry, not in any way that mattered. If they were to travel back in time for Krennic to set foot on their homestead again, he would shoot Lyra dead and coerce Galen again, not give up and turn back alone. They both knew that. 

So Galen would have to become unpredictable to him. He would have to change. He would have to become someone whose betrayal, whose lies Krennic would not see until it was too late. 

But it was not the familiar drive of passion that he felt overcome him now, alone in the room. This was a project like any other, only this time it was to transform himself. 

Galen did not want to be transformed, neither by himself nor other forces; though he had long since learnt that that was what every sentient being in the galaxy went through. One changed to adapt, or was left behind in the ashes of the past. 

Sadness, and anger. They seemed the only emotions left in him. 

Galen closed his eyes. 

-

When he opened them again, it was to the sight of a freshly pressed Imperial uniform on the table across him. 

Galen stared at the uniform, its grey palette and the rectangular, red-blue logo stitched into its left corner, above where the wearer's heart would be. 

There had been a time when he had worn the uniform with dignity, if not pride. Now, it was nothing but a mocking echo of Krennic's own white uniform. 

Of what Orson Krennic wanted to remake him into. 

By the time the white caped Director entered the room, Galen was already in front of the mirror. 

He watched as Krennic lingered in the doorway, caught in the reflection of the mirror and the bind to leave or stay. It was clear that he had intended for his arrival to be undiscovered, but it was too late now. 

Galen had changed into the grey Imperial uniform, his old robes cast away on the floor. He had no sentimentality to spare, not even for the last of the material goods of his lost life. 

A life that had been robbed from him by the man standing behind him now. 

Galen's fingers clenched into a fist around the scissors in his hand. He had to endure. Unless Krennic got close enough... But no. 

As the white caped man finally made his decision, his boots making much louder sound in the silent room than usual as he walked towards Galen, Galen was forced to admit another uncomfortable truth. 

That he might not be able to end Orson Krennic himself, even if the man was right in front of him and at his mercy. 

As Krennic halted behind him, close enough to put his head on his shoulder, Galen placed the scissors down into the sink with imperceptibly shaky fingers. 

It was too tempting, too horrifying. That he might succeed and have the blood of a monster who wore his old friend's face on his hands; that he might fail and doom Jyn to a worse fate. 

Galen spoke before the other man had a chance to. He had to speak first, to draw the lines on where they stood now. 'Krennic.' The name tasted bitter, cold and clinical on his tongue. Distancing. 

He watched the white caped Director's expression change in the mirror. Surprise, anger, resignation. They danced across his face, a canvas Galen relished painting. 

'... Galen.' Krennic's voice was slow, soft. Wary. Pacifying. 'I see that you're... awake.' 

Galen remained silent. He could almost sense the need to continue talking pouring in waves off the other man's frame. Good. Galen would let Krennic interpret whatever he wanted from his silence, and learn as much of the Director's plans as he could from his words. 

He saw the white caped man's eyes drift down to the Imperial uniform with relief and satisfaction, observed the fleeting fear that crept into those blue eyes at the sight of the pair of scissors in the sink. 

'My hair,' Galen said, before Krennic could ask anything, before he himself could say anything incriminating. The truth was, he did not know what exactly had possessed him to pick the pair of scissors up, what intentions he had had. 'I was going to cut it.' 

Yes, that was the right thing to say. It didn't matter now; unless he could assuage Krennic's suspicions, the Director would no doubt make sure that he would never touch another sharp object again for the rest of his life. 

If Krennic doubted the honesty of his explanation, he did not question it. Instead, he reached around Galen's waist, his fingers plunging down into the sink to pick the scissors up. 

'Let me help you,' the Director said, meeting Galen's eyes in the mirror. The blue orbs shone with an intense desire that shocked him. It was not a suggestion; Krennic was ordering Galen _to let him cut his hair_. 

Somehow, he had not thought that this would be the first order he would heed under Orson Krennic. 

Galen turned, so that he was now face to face with Krennic, the back of his thighs resting against the sink. Revulsion surged in him as he looked the murderer of his wife in the face again, then a profound sadness as his eyes recognized all the features of the man he had once called his friend in him. 

Krennic did not meet his eyes, though not out of guilt, but because he was bending at the neck to measure the length that needed to be trimmed. 

Galen stood still, though every fiber in his being squirmed under the other man's undivided, unyielding attention. He had never been comfortable under the spotlight, it had always been so, even in Orson Krennic's bed - 

_No._

Galen forced himself to push the thoughts away and composed himself. Orson, his friend as he knew him, was gone, if not dead. In his place was Director Krennic, the monster who had murdered Lyra and orphaned Jyn- 

_Snip._

And there it was again, that inescapable perception, those blue eyes softening with affection... The man who had broke down Galen's walls and persuaded him into his bed with his silver, biting tongue- 

_Snip._

Krennic leaned in closer, making a soft, reprimanding, almost paternal shush sound when Galen nearly fell into the sink in his instinctual reaction to bolt. He sliced off the strands of hair right behind Galen's neck, the cool metal of the scissors chilling him when it made contact with his skin. 

_Snip._

Galen let out a ragged breath. Krennic was so close, too close. His eyes locked onto the other man's greying hair. He couldn't look at those blue eyes, once so bright. He couldn't. 

_Snip._

For a long time, they stood there against the sink; director and scientist, blackmailer and blackmailed, friend and enemy. Time seemed to slip away from them in endless streams, joining the snipped off strands of hair in the sink; until they were both struck with the illusion that they were really only two human men: Orson and Galen. 

_Snip._

It was too dangerous to forget, even in this moment when he was sure that Krennic meant him no harm, what the man had done. What he was. Forcing his eyes shut, Galen began the process of clearing and reordering his thoughts. When he opened his eyes, there would be no Orson in front of him, only Krennic. 

_Snip._

But when Galen opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Orson Krennic leaning over him, blue eyes wide, waiting and strangely vulnerable. And it was then that, all of a sudden, he _knew_. 

Orson Krennic, Director of the Advanced Weapons Research of the Imperial Military, was in love with him. The prideful, scorning, charismatic man who had chased him down to the corners of the galaxy and ruined his life was in love with him, a mere scientist, and perhaps had always been, ever since their forming years in the Program, back on Brentaal. 

And with that revelation was the crushing knowledge that his friend had changed - but only into what he had always destined and intended for himself. Orson Krennic had grown into the mold he had engineered for himself, and if all were to proceed in line with his designs, he would only grow more and more foreign to Galen. 

Orson, the man who was Galen's friend, had never existed, because he was part and parcel of Orson Krennic, and no amount of name changing in his mind would alter it. 

Looking the white caped man in the eye, he felt incredulity well up in the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. Had Orson Krennic always been so transparent, and Galen Erso so oblivious?

He saw then, what all of this had been: the Director attempting to cut away his ties to any other, his old life, once and for all. He remembered the ecstatic light in those blue eyes as he held the pair of scissors, which had seemed so bright again for one terrible moment. 

As Orson Krennic lay the scissors down, his hand caressing Galen's shorn hair with the barely-there touches, as if wary of rebuke, Galen smiled, a bitter, ironic smile. 

But the white caped Director only seemed to see it as encouragement. Reaching up, he seemed about to cup Galen's cheeks in his hands. 

But something in Galen's eyes must have made him change his mind. The hands rested, with a thud, on Galen's shoulders instead. 

'Galen,' he murmured. 'Galen.' 

And then he was pulling Galen to him, a possessive hug that squeezed him against Orson's frame until all they could breath in the air was each other. He heard the blue eyed man let out a long, rattling sigh, as if he had been waiting for years to do this, to hold Galen close to him. 

This, then, was the balance that Lyra's Force had always promised. Stripped of his possessions, family and even freedom, Galen had been rewarded with the most terrible weapon in all of the galaxy: his enemy's _love._

Galen closed his eyes in resignation. 

He would do what he must, to survive, for Jyn. Even if that meant betraying what he had always wanted for himself. Even if it meant becoming the very thing his friend was. 

A monster in the eyes of the galaxy. 

Galen reached around Orson's frame and wound his arms around his waist, pressing them together even tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *inserts quote about symbolism of cutting hair off*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please find me on tumblr @ohmyvalar I need someone to cry w me about galennic bye. Also if u have any suggestions for other people to ship Galen with I would appreciate it~ I have a few ways for this fic to go planned out but...


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